Shortest route of course, when I’m in no hurry. I’ll grab breakfast, swing by the drycleaners, and run a couple errands.
Chapter Twelve
Who Plays By The Rules, Anyway?
The clackety-clack of the garage door announced Dan was home. through the kitchen he noticed it was passed nine o’clock. He hung the gun belt across the pantry doorknob and headed for the bedroom. He hung the dry-cleaning on the back of the door, and slipped out to check on Trouble. Curled in a ball, you’re good.
Turning back he went to the turntable. I’ll unwind awhile. Can’t ever get to sleep right off, anyway. Selecting three instrumental records, he loaded the turntable, adjusted the volume low, and slumped into the easy chair. The ceiling fan beat the air above him and the sax stirred him inward. Outside he heard children playing in the empty lot. They’re at it early today. Happy cries blended with the lazy waves of the orchestra. His tired body relaxed and his chin dropped. “Oh blast it!” he fussed spying a jelly blob from breakfast on his shirt pocket. It’ll stain. Instinctively he jumped up to go to the laundry room, but reconsidered: To heck with it! Demon man’s ripped the pocket half off!
He stepped out onto the rear porch. Dan positioned the Adirondack chair to watch the children. No cushion! I won’t stay long. door, four youngsters were taking on three in a game of kickball. It summoned back the days he played children’s games.
Oh yes, in the days worries belonged to another world. But, how did life become a game of survival where the trophy is a faded glory? Society has slipped its restraints! Life’s tournament is not played in a stadium where spectators are safe. Everybody lives on this playing field. There are penalty boxes, but no safe zones. Scarce is the contender who plays nice. Rarer yet, one who plays by the rules.
Dan heard the record changer resetting for the third time, enough of that. He went in to change the albums and heard Trouble banged at the porch door. How did he get out? Hoping to prevent the ferret sneaking past, he carefully opened the door to the front porch. However, Trouble is impossible to forestall. Flashing by, the ferret nosedived into a laundry basket of old towels.
“That’ll keep you busy while I find how you escaped.” It didn’t take long to find the cage roof pulled away in the back. “How you managed it I’ll never figure!”
Dan repaired the cage and returned to the sitting room. Picking up the basket he carried it to the porch. Closing the door, Dan plunked the basket down. Responding to the bump, the ferret peered over the edge.
“You’re not playing by the rules. Look at the mess out here. You’ve been into everything from the magazines to the flower pots.”
Dan kicked a Nerf ball and Trouble gave chase. He tried to drag it back to Dan, but it bounced erratically against the porch planks. While the ferret worked untiringly to retrieve the oversize ball, Dan picked up his corncob pipe from the side table, grabbed his pouch from the shelf behind, and settled in the swing. While he packed the pipe, Dan watched the ferret struggle with the ball; pulling and tugging determinedly. Finally it broke free with an erratic bounce tumbling the ferret.
“Trouble, you love playing ball. Listen to the games I played today: pick Ford; hostage, hostage who’s the hostage; serious pursuit, drunk or not drunk, burglar billiards, doggie hide and seek, and the vanishing guard. Some were fun, but most are serious. Yet, regardless of risks, men unrelentingly devise game plans to avoid the opposition and score their goal.” Dan puffed then packed more tobacco. “And, for what: some temporal gain, a fleeting thrill, a confirmation of worth?”
“Even this night, showroom thieves rationalized their crime as a move in a game of cops and robbers. I can hear their alibi: ‘It harmed no one, after all the cars were insured.’ Like a football game, it’s one play of many to cross their goal. Ah, but this linebacker stopped them.”
The ferret abandoned the ball and ran to Dan for treats. A beach towel hung through the arm of the swing dragging to the floor. Trouble climbed it nestling in Dan’s lap. Dan packed tobacco in the pipe one pinch after another, but the strands spilled out into his lap. He continued while storytelling to deaf ears.
“Yet, the game goes on, my furry friend. Bruce Moore found himself fourth down and goal to go. He had no intent to harm. He made a good run for it, but ran out of bounds short of the goalpost.”
Curled up in Dan’s lap, the ferret nibbled tobacco. Dan flipped the lighter to the pipe. There was too little tobacco to hold a flame. Puffing the fireless pipe he dropped a treat to the ferret. Trouble paid it no mind. What are you eating?
“Tobacco! Varmint, you’ve chewed through my pipe! Seeking thrills, huh? What did you gain? Hah! A mouthful of corncob? Humanity suffers like delusions. Seeking thrills of gain, they believe they’ve scored even when they’ve been sacked and lost.”
Dan dropped the corncob into his lap, “Here! Take the spoils of your exploits.”
Trouble sniffed the pipe and nosed it off Dan’s lap.
“Your prize does not satisfy? I’ll tell you why. But, first, a new pipe.” Dan rose slowly as Trouble slid down his legs to the floor. Dan went to the sitting room, put a new records on, and chose another pipe. Returning he slid back into the swing. Trouble crawled back into Dan’s lap in seconds. “No treats, you exasperating varmint. But, I promised an explanation.”
“Some crime is personal, but the lion’s share is a calculated risk. Trouble my friend, the criminal mind has no focus outside of itself. His victim is neutral; seen as a means to an acquisition, be it material or power. Here’s the rub: greed, is never satisfied. Even our seducer fails to acquire all. His misery he vents on us, deceives, and then laughs in our face.
“I’ve felt the urges of his dark nature. It whispers, ‘Go ahead! Snatch the profit. Nobody will know.’ It’s personal for that instigator. Although a few openly embrace his lies, most set their feet to resist. Nevertheless, some are knocked off balance by anger, jealousy, or greed. The result is many innocent are hurt.”
“Even Hess’ mission to suspend me is not malicious. He’s cursed to prove himself. His ego competes against his ghost for approval. Our greatest enemies come at us from within?”
The briar was drawing hard. Dan inattentively over packed it. He reached for his pipe-nail. It was missing. “Ferret, you thief! You’ve made off with it!” Where did you hide it? The porch isn’t that big? surveyed the porch.
“The dirt on the floor betrays you, as greed betrays mankind.” The planter, you love to bury things Dan found the pipe-nail in the loose soil. “Did you think you would not be discovered? Never!”
Returning to his swing and began cleaning and repacked the pipe. The ferret wrestled with the throw the swing was dragging on the floor. Dan propped his feet on a crate, smoked the pipe, and reminisced of carefree days.
Dan remembered stealing a friend’s baseball glove at age ten. He worried at first, but time passed. His concern gone, he thought he’d gotten away with it. Then, one afternoon, the glove showed up on his father’s desk! “Boy, did I get a whippin’ over that one!” Dan mussed aloud. Worst part was returning it to Jamie.
Dan treasured the memories of his father, even this one. He also recalled how his father seemed immune to troubles. Always deferring to the ‘will of God. ‘All things for the good’…dah dah dah!
“He must have been sheltered from the miseries I wade through. Trouble, unlike your mischief, the duped mind of crime is energized by greed. It comes in various degrees, but its source is the full-strength evil.”
His pipe out Dan put the pet in his play cage and retired to the bedroom. Pulling his shirt off, he inspected the torn pocket and sleeve.
“Who is this Ischyres with empty eyes?” he shouted tossing the shirt in the trash. He who wears an eyeball necklace is up to no good.
Sitting on the bed he pulled off his socks and cleaned the ‘toe-jam.’ Both socks missed the hamper. Society has declared war on poverty, thought, but it worsens. Massive attempts to make schools equal, and reinventing of social p
rograms over and over in the pursuit of human dignity have made no progress. Their philosophies miss the target as bad as my socks!
Dan lay back on the bed. Light flooded in past the crooked blind. He went over and adjusted it. Picking up the four darts on the dresser he sized up the target on the opposite wall.
Am I not wise as most? Then why is my understanding scoffed? WHAP, sounded the first dart sticking in the third ring.
Is it because, I work the city’s dark passageways hauling societies refuse beyond sight? I too have spent time in society’s sacred halls of education. But, no Master’s! No Doctorate! No credentials recognized by the influential upper crust? WHAP. The second dart hit within the first circle.
I don’t know how man’s heart is corrupted, but I’ve rubbed against the repugnant, waded through depravity’s mire. Crime is an outcropping of rotten hearts! “Reality declares a dissipating common goodness! There’s my credentials—REALITY!”
“WHAP,” a dart hit within the first circle.
‘Everyone is fundamentally good,’ HOGWASH! If so, how do we lose it? Poverty, environment, unemployment, racism, nor ignorance has stolen goodness. These are by-products of abuse and misuse; of greed and disregard. Councilor Ischyres, a misunderstood good person? Foolish proposition. Ha!
“Here’s one for you Is-ky-ress!”—WHAP. “Right in the evil eye!”
“Here’s to society’s good men misunderstood!” WHAP. “Another bull’s-eye!” Far more to that encounter than I will ever understand! went through Dan, and he shook them off. I need something to settle my nerves.
He went to the refrigerator. Found a bottle of Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon. Louis Martini will you, too, let me down? with the bottle he grabbed a wedge of Colby cheese, and inspected a glass on the table. Clean enough. Wine sanitizes. Dan poured three ounces, re-corked the bottle, and returned it to the fridge. Nibbling and sipping, he concentrated on the fruity flavor. Dan waltzed his way to the bedroom, a half empty glass his partner. He sat on the small cedar chest at the foot of the bed, sipped from the glass pondering.
Ben’s right, I need a female companion! Maybe he’d settle for a dog? Dan’s laughter shook the bed. Surely Ben would approve of a dog, thought cackling aloud. And Hallister! Oh, to have seen your face, when first you understood. These games divert the tension, but temporary is the relief. It’s more comforting to know I’m on a good team and still in the game. Hallister‘s solid. It gives me hope. Yet in it all, I am saddened. Should I have let the challenge pass?
The reminiscence tempered the tears of Dan’s heart, and the wine quieted his subconscious. It’s fun chasin’ bad guys, sometimes. As for Ischyres, power of darkness, I’m studying your ploys. The ‘Handbook’ warns me: “Be of sober spirit, be on the alert. Your adversary, the Devil, prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.”7
Dan raised the glass eye level, Be of sober spirit? Looking at the fluid, Dan declared, “Ischyres, to you this pledge.” He went into the bathroom and poured the wine in the sink. “And, this I vow: abstinence to strong drink. I shall remain vigilant, sober minded; your games shall not prevail.”
Setting the glass aside, he returned and reclined on the bed. Would the One who created this world, this life, stand by and let such ‘games’ of injustice prevail? NO!
Dan drifted, slumbered and dreamed. He was in a stadium. He saw a banner blown in the wind overhead. It read, “The game of life.” The referees escorted contestant after contestant into the winner’s circle beaming with arrogance and pride. All eyes turned upon the Judge. In His hands was the record of offenses. ‘Disqualified! Step aside to account!’ he demands. It has to be! If good does not win, it’s no better than evil. the men were lead out the vision gave way to restful sleep.
Soon the fishing trip would be upon him. Dan needed to get away from the city and his turmoil, but was it possible? His anticipation grew as he imagined the serene waters, the boat’s rocking, and the absence of agenda. Dan’s outing was poised with a surprise catch, and an unpredictable release.
7 1 Peter 5:8
Chapter Thirteen
Rousting Out Counterfeits
Dan counted himself fortunate because it was a slow night. He’d be home by eight. Looking forward to the three-day weekend, fishing occupied Dan’s mind on the drive home. A crisp sunrise promised good weather. What’s this “Professor” guy all about? Gary is so sure we’ll click. Am I that predictable?
The charter supplied all the equipment. Dan only needed the fishing clothes which he packed yesterday. The two next door teenage William’s girls were eager to look after Trouble. Shoot, Trouble will have more fun with them than I will on some barge float!
Gary said Rick’d be here by nine, Dan thought arriving home. He changed into jeans and a safari shirt, grabbed the straw Panama Jack, and carried his duffle to the porch to wait. After working all night, he was tired. Dan customarily switched back to the ‘land of the living’ by staying up and taking an afternoon nap. He leaned back against the duffle and yawned. This really could be fun. How long are they going to take? minutes later, Dan slept sprawled across the porch snoring.
The horn launched Dan upright. Instinctively, he rolled left tumbling down the three steps. He lay on the sidewalk fully awake. “I’m coming!”
Dan stowed his duffel, in the back of the four door Mercury wagon and slid into the back seat. “What’s with the horn? In this neighborhood we use doorbells.”
“Couldn’t get to it,” Gary replied.
“There appeared a Grizzly in the way, and Mr. G here was fearful to go on the porch,” the Professor added.
“Bear?” Dan asked.
“Indeed,” the Professor said, “he wanted to load you in the backseat without waking you.”
“Really?”
“I told him I’d rather fight a Grizzly,” Gary said.
“And, ‘Mr. G’, I assume?” Dan said. “Refers to this pile of shark bait, known as the Ghost Rider, which rumor has it ain’t scared of nothin’?”
“Exercising caution and being scared are different. Dan, make the acquaintance of Richard Lumaspas, professor of Physical Sciences and Anthropology at the University. Lumaspas speaks for itself and he doesn’t like to be called ‘Lumpy’ or anything similar. ‘Professor’ works best. And, Professor, this red-eyed questionable human mass is Dan Black. Although he denies ever being one, he’s known as the ‘Preacher’.”
“Glad to finally meet you, Dan,” Professor Lumaspas acknowledged, “The term ‘Professor’ is my colleagues’ choice, but ‘Rick’ fits casual affairs better. I have heard plenty about you.”
“You can believe ten percent of it, if you hear it from him. Thanks for allowing me to join the greatest fishing expedition of all times.” They shook hands. Firm grip
“Enough frivolities,” Gary said. “Here’s the agenda. Professor will drive up to Lake Erie. Since you’re half gone, I’ll join you napping until we arrive in Port Clinton. We’ll check in, eat, and go find a headboat. How’s that sound?”
“You expecting an argument from a sleepin’ man?” Dan mumbled sliding down in the seat. The sound of wind and passing cars faded. hours later he was jarred awake. What – where am I, oh yeah – gone fishing – the banging – must be there. raised a stiff skeleton to see his two companions, bags in hand, headed for a cabin door. He got out, lifted his duffle through the rear hatch and closed it. By the time he entered the cabin, the unclaimed bunks were top decks.
“G.I. bunks. Economy class, eh. You guys know how to make a man feel welcome; grabbin’ the bottoms.”
“Sorry,” Gary responded. “Snooze you lose.”
Dan dropped his duffle in the corner. “What do they call this place?”
“Angler’s Cabin Camp,” Gary said. “They cater to the no frills fishermen.”
“That’s definitely me,” he said going to the nearest bunk. He pulled the mattress from the top and spread it on the floor near the window. Then he took the mattress from the othe
r and laid it alongside. “I’m a down to earth guy. Top bunk gives me nosebleeds.”
“Two mattresses?” Gary asked.
“I’m used to a man sized bed, unless either of you…?”
“Not me,” Rich said. “I came to fish.”
“Then let’s eat and find us a headboat,” Gary suggested. “It’s going on 1300 hours.”
A short walk from Angler’s Camp they came upon a wharf offering them three places to eat. The first was Harbor Grille and Pub. Its sign pictured a seaman in storm gear blowing suds from his beer.
“What do you think?” Dan asked.
“Looks more pub than grille. Not on a liquid diet,” Gary said.
A block away they stood before Bligh’s Wharf Restaurant. Checking a posted menu Rick commented, “Kind of upscale. Too much money for lunch.” Around the corner was Ginger’s. Its weathered faded blue clapboard and venetian blind facade did not encourage them. The rust stained metal roof displayed three large repairs, and the warped waiting benches seemed to shout ‘Don’t sit here’!”
“Its unpretentiousness,” Rick noted.
“It’s all we got,” Dan said, “unless, we go back.”
Ginger’s interior was plain. At the entrance stood a full sized puffy faced plywood chef nailed to a column. “First Come, First Served. Seat Yourself Mate,” was written on its apron. The late forties décor remained; booths of splotchy dark green vinyl, Formica tops worn thin, and black and white linoleum tiles scuffed through by traffic. For what the exterior lacked, the folksy clean interior compensated. There was no grease buildup, nor dust on the windowsills. The aroma of mother’s kitchen captured them.
To their left were a dozen booths along the windows. Across from them, a counter with ten stools partitioned off the service aisle and kitchen porthole. A jukebox stood at the far end blinking red, orange and green. A double swung door opened to the kitchen across from the entrance. The section to the right housed an overflow area. Nautical implements appeared everywhere; captain wheels, anchors, stuffed fish, and a carved mermaid ship figurehead on the wall behind the cashier.
Game of the Blues Page 23
